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diff --git a/7998-h/7998-h.htm b/7998-h/7998-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1896bbe --- /dev/null +++ b/7998-h/7998-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3245 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Frogs of Aristophanes, by Aristophanes + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frogs, by Aristophanes + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Frogs + +Author: Aristophanes + +Editor: Charles W. Eliot + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7998] +This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 +Last updated: May 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROGS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Ted Garvin, Marvin A. Hodges, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES + </h1> + <h2> + By Aristophanes + </h2> + <h3> + The Harvard Classics <br /> <br /> Edited By Charles W Eliot Lld <br /> <br /> + Nine Greek Dramas <br /> <br /> By Ęschylus, Sophocles, Euripides And + Aristophanes + </h3> + <h5> + Translations By <br /> <br /> E D A Morshead<br /> E H Plumptre<br /> Gilbert + Murray<br /> And<br /> B B Rogers + </h5> + <h4> + With Introductions And Notes <br /> <br /> VOLUME 8 + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> INTRODUCTORY NOTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> DRAMATIS PERSONĘ </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTORY NOTE + </h2> + <p> + Aristophanes, <i>the greatest of comic writers in Greek and in the opinion + of many, in any language, is the only one of the Attic comedians any of + whose works has survived in complete form He was born in Athens about the + middle of the fifth century B C, and had his first comedy produced when he + was so young that his name was withheld on account of his youth. He is + credited with over forty plays, eleven of which survive, along with the + names and fragments of some twenty-six others. His satire deal with + political, religious, and literary topics, and with all its humor and + fancy is evidently the outcome of profound conviction and a genuine + patriotism. The Attic comedy was produced at the festivals of Dionysus, + which were marked by great license, and to this, rather than to the + individual taste of the poet, must be ascribed the undoubted coarseness of + many of the jests. Aristophanes seems, indeed, to have been regarded by + his contemporaries as a man of noble character. He died shortly after the + production of his "Plutus," in 388 B. C. </i> + </p> + <p> + "The Frogs" was produced the year after the death of Euripides, and + laments the decay of Greek tragedy which Aristophanes attributed to that + writer. It is an admirable example of the brilliance of his style, and of + that mingling of wit and poetry with rollicking humor and keen satirical + point which is his chief characteristic. Here, as elsewhere, he stands for + tradition against innovation of all kinds, whether in politics, religion, + or art. The hostility to Euripides displayed here and in several other + plays, like his attacks on Socrates, is a result of this attitude of + conservatism. The present play is notable also as a piece of elaborate if + not over-serious literary criticism from the pen of a great poet. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <b>DRAMATIS PERSONĘ</b> + </p> + <p> + THE GOD DIONYSUS + </p> + <p> + XANTHIAS, <i>his slave</i> + </p> + <p> + AESCHYLUS + </p> + <p> + EURIPIDES + </p> + <p> + HERACLES + </p> + <p> + PLUTO + </p> + <p> + CHARON AEACUS, <i>house porter to Pluto</i> + </p> + <p> + A CORPSE + </p> + <p> + A MAIDSERVANT OF PERSEPHONE + </p> + <p> + A LANDLADY IN HADES + </p> + <p> + PLATHANE, <i>her servant</i> + </p> + <p> + A CHORUS OF FROGS + </p> + <p> + A CHORUS OF INITIATED PERSONS + </p> + <p> + <i>Attendants at a Funeral; </i> + </p> + <p> + Women worshipping Iacchus; + </p> + <p> + Servants of Pluto, &c. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + <i>XANTHIAS</i> + + Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master, + At which the audience never fail to laugh? + + DIONYSUS. Aye, what you will, except <i>I'm getting crushed:</i> Fight shy + of that: I'm sick of that already. + + XAN. Nothing else smart? + + DIO. Aye, save <i>my shoulder's aching.</i> + + XAN. Come now, that comical joke? + + DIO. With all my heart. Only be careful not to shift your pole, + And— + + XAN. What? + + DIO. And vow that you've a bellyache. + + XAN. May I not say I'm overburdened so + That if none ease me, I must ease myself? + + DIO. For mercy's sake, not till I'm going to vomit. + + XAN. + + What! must I bear these burdens, and not make + One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis + And Phrynichus, in every play they write, + Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers? + + DIO. + + Don't make them; no! I tell you when I see + Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away + More than a twelvemonth older than I went. + + XAN. + + O thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now + Is <i>getting crushed</i>, yet must not crack its joke! + + DIO. + + Now is not this fine pampered insolence + When I myself, Dionysus, son of—Pipkin, + Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride, + Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing? + + XAN. What, don't I bear? + + DIO. How can you when you're riding? + + XAN. Why, I bear these. + + DIO. How? + + XAN. Most unwillingly. + + DIO. Does not the donkey bear the load you're bearing? + + XAN. Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he. + + DIO. How can you bear, when you are borne yourself? + + XAN. Don't know: but anyhow <i>my shoulder's aching</i>. + + DIO. + + Then since you say the donkey helps you not, + You lift him up and carry him in turn. + + XAN. + + O hang it all! why didn't I fight at sea? + You should have smarted bitterly for this. + + DIO. + + Get down, you rascal; I've been trudging on + Till now I've reached the portal, where I'm going + First to turn in. + Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy! + + HERACLES. + + Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur + He drove against it! Mercy o' me, what's this? + + DIO. Boy. + + XAN. Yes. + + DIO. Did you observe? + + XAN. What? + + DIO. How alarmed He is. + + XAN. Aye truly, lest you've lost your wits. + + HER. O by Demeter, I can't choose but laugh. + Biting my lips won't stop me. Ha! ha! ha! + + DIO. Pray you, come hither, I have need of you. + + HER. I vow I can't help laughing, I can't help it. + A lion's hide upon a yellow silk, a club and buskin! + What's it all about? Where were you going? + + DIO. I was serving lately aboard the—Cleisthenes. + + HER. And fought? + + DIO. And sank more than a dozen of the enemy's ships. + + HER. You two? + + DIO. We two. + + HER. And then I awoke, and lo! + + DIO. There as, on deck, I'm reading to myself + The Andromeda, a sudden pang of longing + Shoots through my heart, you can't conceive how keenly. + + HER. How big a pang. + + DIO. A small one, Molon's size. + + HER. Caused by a woman? + + DIO. No. + + HER. A boy? + + DIO. No, no. + + HER. A man? + + DIO. Ah! ah! + + HER. Was it for Cleisthenes? + + DIO. Don't mock me, brother; on my life I am + In a bad way: such fierce desire consumes me. + + HER. Aye, little brother? how? + + DIO. I can't describe it. But yet I'll tell you in a riddling way. + Have you e'er felt a sudden lust for soup? + + HER. Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times. + + DIO. Is the thing clear, or must I speak again? + + HER. Not of the soup: I'm clear about the soup. + + DIO. Well, just that sort of pang devours my heart + For lost Euripides. + + HER. A dead man too. + + DIO. And no one shall persuade me not to go after the man. + + HER. Do you mean below, to Hades? + + DIO. And lower still, if there's a lower still. + + HER. What on earth for? + + DIO. I want a genuine poet, "For some are not, and those that are, are + bad." + + HER. What! does not Iophon live? + + DIO. Well, he's the sole Good thing remaining, if even he is good. + For even of that I'm not exactly certain. + + HER. If go you must, there's Sophocles—he comes Before Euripides—why + not take <i>him</i>? + + DIO. Not till I've tried if Iophon's coin rings true + When he's alone, apart from Sophocles. + Besides, Euripides the crafty rogue, + Will find a thousand shifts to get away, + But <i>he</i> was easy here, is easy there. + + HER. But Agathon, where is he? + + DIO. He has gone and left us, A genial poet, by his friends much + missed. + + HER. Gone where? + + DIO. To join the blessed in their banquets. + + HER. But what of Xenocles? + + DIO. O he be hanged! + + HER. Pythangelus? + + XAN. But never a word of me, Not though my shoulder's chafed so + terribly. + + HER. But have you not a shoal of little songsters, + Tragedians by the myriad, who can chatter + A furlong faster than Euripides? + + DIO. Those be mere vintage-leavings, jabberers, choirs + Of swallow-broods, degraders of their art, + Who get one chorus, and are seen no more, + The Muses' love once gained. But O my friend, + Search where you will, you'll never find a true + Creative genius, uttering startling things. + + HER. Creative? how do you mean? + + DIO. I mean a man Who'll dare some novel venturesome conceit, + <i>Air, Zeus's chamber</i>, or <i>Time's foot</i>, or this, + <i>'Twas not my mind that swore: my tongue committed + A little perjury on its own account.</i> + + HER. You like that style? + + DIO. Like it? I dote upon it. + + HER. I vow it's ribald nonsense, and you know it. + + DIO. "Rule not my mind": you've got a house to mind. + + HER. Really and truly though 'tis paltry stuff. + + DIO. Teach me to dine! + + XAN. But never a word of me. + + DIO. But tell me truly—'twas for this I came + Dressed up to mimic you—what friends received + And entertained you when you went below + To bring back Cerberus, in case I need them. + And tell me too the havens, fountains, shops, + Roads, resting-places, stews, refreshment rooms, + Towns, lodgings, hostesses, with whom were found + The fewest bugs. + + XAN. But never a word of me. + + HER. You are really game to go? + + DIO. O drop that, can't you? And tell me this: of all the roads you + know + Which is the quickest way to get to Hades? I want one not too warm, nor + yet too cold. + + HER. Which shall I tell you first? which shall it be? + There's one by rope and bench: you launch away + And—hang yourself. + + DIO. No thank you: that's too stifling. + + HER. Then there's a track, a short and beaten cut. + By pestle and mortar. + + DIO. Hemlock, do you mean? + + HER. Just so. + + DIO. No, that's too deathly cold a way; + You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed. + + HER. Well, would you like a steep and swift descent? + + DIO. Aye, that's the style: my walking powers are small. + + HER. Go down to the Cerameicus. + + DIO. And do what? + + HER. Climb to the tower's top pinnacle— + + DIO. And then? + + HER. Observe the torch-race started, and when all + The multitude is shouting <i>Let them go</i>, + Let yourself go. + + DIO. Go whither? + + HER. To the ground. + + DIO. O that would break my brain's two envelopes. I'll not try that + + HER. Which will you try? + + DIO. The way you went yourself. + + HER. A parlous voyage that, + For first you'll come to an enormous lake Of fathomless depth. + + DIO. And how am I to cross? + + HER. An ancient mariner will row you over + In a wee boat, <i>so</i> big. + The fare's two obols. + + DIO. Fie! The power two obols have, the whole world through! + How came they thither? + + HER. Theseus took them down. + And next you'll see great snakes and savage monsters + In tens of thousands. + + DIO. You needn't try to scare me, I'm going to go. + + HER. Then weltering seas of filth + And ever-rippling dung: and plunged therein, + Whoso has wronged the stranger here on earth, + Or robbed his boylove of the promised pay, + Or swinged his mother, or profanely smitten + His father's cheek, or sworn an oath forsworn, + Or copied out a speech of Morsimus. + + DIO. There too, perdie, should <i>he</i> be plunged, whoe'er + Has danced the sword-dance of Cinesias. + + HER. And next the breath of flutes will float around you, + And glorious sunshine, such as ours, you'll see, + And myrtle groves, and happy bands who clap + Their hands in triumph, men and women too. + + DIO. And who are they? + + HER. The happy mystic bands. + + XAN. And I'm the donkey in the mystery show. + But I'll not stand it, not one instant longer. + + HER. Who'll tell you everything you want to know. + You'll find them dwelling close beside the road + You are going to travel, just at Pluto's gate. + And fare thee well, my brother. + + DIO. And to you Good cheer. + + (<i>To Xan.</i>) Now sirrah, pick you up the traps. + + XAN. Before I've put them down? + + DIO. And quickly too. + + XAN. No, prithee, no; but hire a body, one + They're carrying out, on purpose for the trip. + + DIO. If I can't find one? + + XAN. Then I'll take them. + + DIO. Good. And see! they are carrying out a body now. + Hallo! you there, you deadman, are you willing + To carry down our little traps to Hades? + + CORPSE. What are they? + + DIO. These. + + CORP. Two drachmas for the job? + + DIO. Nay, that's too much. + + CORP. Out of the pathway, you! + + DIO. Beshrew thee, stop: may-be we'll strike a bargain. + + CORP. Pay me two drachmas, or it's no use talking. + + DIO. One and a half. + + CORP. I'd liefer live again! + + XAN. How absolute the knave is! + He be hanged! I'll go myself. + + DIO. You're the right sort, my man. + Now to the ferry. + + CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to. + + XAN. Whatever's that? + + DIO. Why, that's the lake, by Zeus, + Whereof he spake, and yon's the ferry-boat. + + XAN. Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow's Charon. + + DIO. Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon. + + CHAR. Who's for the Rest from every pain and ill? + Who's for the Lethe's plain? the Donkey-shearings? + Who's for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens? + + DIO. I. + + CHAR. Hurry in. + + DIO. But where are you going really? In truth to the Ravens? + + CHAR. Aye, for your behoof. Step in. + + DIO. (<i>To Xan.</i>) Now, lad. + + CHAR. A slave? I take no slave, + Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea. + + XAN. I couldn't go. I'd got the eye-disease. + + CHAR. Then fetch a circuit round about the lake. + + XAN. Where must I wait? + + CHAR. Beside the Withering stone, + Hard by the Rest. + + DIO. You understand? + + XAN. Too well. O, what ill omen crost me as I started! + + CHAR. (<i>To DIO.</i>) Sit to the oar. (<i>Calling.</i>) Who else for the boat? + Be quick. + + (<i>To DIO.</i>) Hi! what are you doing? + + DIO. What am I doing? Sitting On to the oar. + You told me to, yourself. + + CHAR. Now sit you there, you little Potgut. + + DIO. So? + + CHAR. Now stretch your arms full length before you. + + DIO. So? + + CHAR. Come, don't keep fooling; plant your feet, and now + Pull with a will. + + DIO. Why, how am <i>I</i> to pull? I'm not an oarsman, seaman, + Salaminian. I can't! + + CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once, + You'll hear the loveliest timing songs. + + DIO. What from? + + CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful. + + DIO. Then give the word. + + CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!! + + FROGS. + + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! + We children of the fountain and the lake + Let us wake + Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out, + Our symphony of clear-voiced song. + The song we used to love in the Marshland up above, + In praise of DIOnysus to produce, + Of Nysaean DIOnysus, son of Zeus, + When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay, + To our precinct reeled along on the holy + Pitcher day. + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. O, dear! O dear! now I declare I've got a bump upon my rump. + + FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. But you, perchance, don't care. + + FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. Hang you, and your ko-axing too! There's nothing but ko-ax with + you. + + FR. That is right, Mr. Busybody, right! + For the Muses of the lyre love us well; + And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays; + And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight + For the strong reed's sake which I grow within my lake + To be girdled in his lyre's deep shell. + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. + + My hands are blistered very sore; + My stern below is sweltering so, + 'Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + O tuneful race, O pray give o'er, + O sing no more. + + FR. Ah, no! ah, no! Loud and louder our chant must flow. + Sing if ever ye sang of yore, + When in sunny and glorious days + Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing + On we swept, in the joy of singing + Myriad-divine roundelays. + Or when fleeing the storm, we went + Down to the depths, and our choral song + Wildly raised to a loud and long + Bubble-bursting accompaniment. + + FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. This timing song I take from you. + + FR. That's a dreadful thing to do. + + DIO. Much more dreadful, if I row + Till I burst myself, I trow. + + FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. Go, hang yourselves; for what care I? + + FR. All the same we'll shout and cry, + Stretching all our throats with song, + Shouting, crying, all day long. + + FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + + DIO. In this you'll never, never win. + + FR. This you shall not beat us in. + + DIO. No, nor ye prevail o'er me. + Never! never! I'll my song + Shout, if need be, all day long, + Until I've learned to master your ko-ax. + Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. + I thought I'd put a stop to your ko-ax. + + CHAR. Stop! Easy! Take the oar and push her to now pay your fare and + go. + + DIO. Here 'tis: two obols. Xanthias! where's Xanthias? + Is it Xanthias there? + + XAN. Hoi, hoi! + + DIO. Come hither. + + XAN. Glad to meet you, master. + + DIO. What have you there? + + XAN. Nothing but filth and darkness. + + DIO. But tell me, did you see the parricides + And perjured folk he mentioned? + + XAN. Didn't you? + + DIO. Poseidon, yes. Why look! (<i>pointing to the audience</i>) + I see them now. What's the next step? + + XAN. We'd best be moving on. + This is the spot where Heracles declared + Those savage monsters dwell. + + DIO. O hang the fellow. + That's all his bluff: he thought to scare me off, + The jealous dog, knowing my plucky ways. + There's no such swaggerer lives as Heracles. + Why, I'd like nothing better than to achieve + Some bold adventure, worthy of our trip. + + XAN. I know you would. Hallo! I hear a noise. + + DIO. Where? what? + + XAN. Behind us, there. + + DIO. Get you behind. + + XAN. No, it's in front. + + DIO. Get you in front directly. + + XAN. And now I see the most ferocious monster. + + DIO. O, what's it like? + + XAN. Like everything by turns. + Now it's a bull: now it's a mule: and now + The loveliest girl. + + DIO. O, where? I'll go and meet her. + + XAN. It's ceased to be a girl: it's a dog now. + + DIO. It is Empusa! + + XAN. Well, its face is all + Ablaze with fire. + + DIO. Has it a copper leg? + + XAN. A copper leg, yes, one; and one of cow dung. + + DIO. O, whither shall I flee? + + XAN. O, whither I? + + DIO. My priest, protect me, and we'll sup together. + + XAN. King Heracles, we're done for. + + DIO. O, forbear, Good fellow, call me anything but that. + + XAN. Well then, Dionysus. + + DIO. O, that's worse again. + + XAN. (<i>To the Spectre</i>.) Aye, go thy way. + O master, here, come here. + + DIO. O, what's up now? + + XAN. Take courage; all's serene. + And, like Hegelochus, we now may say + "Out of the storm there comes a new fine wether." + Empusa's gone. + + DIO. Swear it. + + XAN. By Zeus she is. + + DIO. Swear it again. + + XAN. By Zeus. + + DIO. Again + + XAN. By Zeus. O dear, O dear, how pale I grew to see her, + But he, from fright has yellowed me all over. + + DIO. Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head? + Who is the god to blame for my destruction? + Air, Zeus's chamber, or the Foot of Time? + + (<i>A flute is played behind the scenes</i>.) + + DIO. Hist! + + XAN. What's the matter. + + DIO. Didn't you hear it? + + XAN. What? + + DIO. The breath of flutes. + + XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches + Breathed o'er me too; a very mystic whiff. + + DIO. Then crouch we down, and mark what's going on. + + CHORUS. (<i>In the distance</i>.) O Iacchus! O Iacchus! O Iacchus! + + XAN. I have it, master: 'tis those blessed Mystics, + Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts. + They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made. + + DIO. I think so too: we had better both keep quiet + And so find out exactly what it is. + + (<i>The calling forth of Iacchus</i>.) + + CHOR. + + O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temple dwelling, + O Iacchus! O Iacchus! + Come to tread this verdant level, + Come to dance in mystic revel, + Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles + Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles, + Come with wild and saucy paces + Mingling in our joyous dance, + Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces + When the mystic choirs advance. + + XAN. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter's daughter, O, what a jolly whiff + of pork breathed o'er me! + + DIO. Hist! and perchance you'll get some tripe yourself. + + <i>(The welcome to Iacchus.)</i> + + CHOR. Come, arise, from sleep awaking, + come the fiery torches shaking, + O Iacchus! O Iacchus! + Morning Star that shinest nightly. + Lo, the mead is blazing brightly, + Age forgets its years and sadness, + Aged knees curvet for gladness, + Lift thy flashing torches o'er us, + Marshal all thy blameless train, + Lead, O lead the way before us; + lead the lovely youthful Chorus + To the marshy flowery plain. + + <i>(The warning-off of the profane.)</i> + + All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our + choirs depart, + Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of + heart; + Who ne'er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the + Muses high; + Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus's words + supply; + Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they + make; + Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to + slake, + But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to + reap; + Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on + the stormy deep; + Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away + Forbidden stores from Aegina's shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay + Transmitting oarpads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five + per cents; + The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy's + armaments; + The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate's wayside shrine; + The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feast, would, with + heart malign, + Keep nibbling away the Comedians' pay;—to these I utter my warning + cry, + I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that + they draw not nigh + To the sacred dance of the Mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the + song, + The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast + belong. + + (<i>The start of the procession</i>.) + + Advance, true hearts, advance! + On to the gladsome bowers, + On to the sward, with flowers + Embosomed bright! + March on with jest, and jeer, and dance, + Full well ye've supped to-night. + + (<i>The processional hymn to Persephone</i>.) + + March, chanting loud your lays, + Your hearts and voices raising, + The Saviour goddess praising + Who vows she'll still + Our city save to endless days, + Whate'er Thorycion's will. + + Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and + hymns adorn + Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn. + + (<i>The processional hymn to Demeter</i>.) + + O Lady, over our rites presiding, + Preserve and succour thy choral throng, + And grant us all, in thy help confiding, + To dance and revel the whole day long; + AND MUCH in earnest, and much in jest, + Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein. + And when we have bantered and laughed our best, + The victor's wreath be it ours to win. + + Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay, + Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way. + + (<i>The processional hymn to Iacchus</i>.) + + O, come with the joy of thy festival song, + O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng + Untired, though the journey be never so long. + O Lord of the frolic and dance, + Iacchus, beside me advance! + For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent, + Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent, + Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent. + O Lord of the frolic and dance, + Iacchus, beside me advance! + A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show, + Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo, + There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow. + O Lord of the frolic and dance, + Iacchus, beside me advance! + + DIO. Wouldn't I like to follow on, and try + A little sport and dancing? + + XAN. Wouldn't I? + + (<i>The banter at the bridge of Cephisus</i>.) + + CHOR. Shall we all a merry joke + At Archedemus poke, + Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old; + Yet up among the dead + He is demagogue and head, + And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold? + And Cleisthenes, they say, Is among the tombs all day, + Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine. + And Callias, I'm told, + Has become a sailor bold, + And casts a lion's hide o'er his members feminine. + + DIO. Can any of you tell + Where Pluto here may dwell, + For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before? + + CHOR. O, then no further stray, + Nor again enquire the way, + For know that ye have journeyed to his very entrance-door + + DIO. Take up the wraps, my lad. + + XAN. Now is not this too bad? + Like "Zeus's Corinth," he "the wraps" keeps saying o'er and o'er. + + CHOR. Now wheel your sacred dances through the glade with flowers + bedight, + All ye who are partakers of the holy festal rite; + And I will with the women and the holy maidens go + Where they keep the nightly vigil, an auspicious light to show. + + (<i>The departure for the Thriasian Plain</i>) + + Now haste we to the roses, + And the meadows full of posies, + Now haste we to the meadows + In our own old way, + In choral dances blending, + In dances never ending, + Which only for the holy + The Destinies array. + O happy mystic chorus, + The blessed sunshine o'er us + On us alone is smiling, + In its soft sweet light: + On us who strove for ever + With holy, pure endeavour, + Alike by friend and stranger + To guide our steps aright. + + DIO. What's the right way to knock? I wonder how + The natives here are wont to knock at doors. + + XAN. No dawdling: taste the door. You've got, remember, + The lion-hide and pride of Heracles. + + DIO. Boy! boy! + + AEACUS. Who's there? + + DIO. I, Heracles the strong! + + AEAC. O, you most shameless desperate ruffian, you! + O, villain, villain, arrant vilest villain! + Who seized our Cerberus by the throat, and fled, + And ran, and rushed, and bolted, haling off + The dog, my charge! But now I've got thee fast. + So close the Styx's inky-hearted rock, + The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron + Shall hem thee in: the hell-hounds of Cocytus + Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp + Shall rive thy heart-strings: the Tartesian Lamprey, + Prey on thy lungs: and those Tithrasian Gorgons + Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them, + Entrails and all, into one bloody mash. + I'll speed a running foot to fetch them hither. + + XAN. Hallo! what now? + + DIO. I've done it: call the god. + + XAN. Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly, Before you're seen. + + DIO. What, <i>I</i> get up? I'm fainting. Please dab a sponge of water on my + heart. + + XAN. Here! + + DIO. Dab it, you. + + XAN. Where? O, ye golden gods, Lies your heart THERE? + + DIO. It got so terrified + It fluttered down into my stomach's pit. + + XAN. Cowardliest of gods and men! + + DIO. The cowardliest? I? What I, who asked you for a sponge, a thing + A coward never would have done! + + XAN. What then? + + DIO. A coward would have lain there wallowing; + But I stood up, and wiped myself withal. + + XAN. Poseidon! quite heroic. + + DIO. 'Deed I think so. But weren't <i>you</i> frightened at those dreadful + threats And shoutings? + + XAN, Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not. + + DIO. Come then, if you're so <i>very</i> brave a man, + Will you be I, and take the hero's club + And lion's skin, since you're so monstrous plucky? + And I'll be now the slave, and bear the luggage. + + XAN. Hand them across. I cannot choose but take them. + And now observe the Xanthio-heracles + If I'm a coward and a sneak like you. + + DIO. Nay, you're the rogue from Melite's own self. + And I'll pick up and carry on the traps. + + MAID. O welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart. + My Lady, when they told her, set to work, + Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three tureens + Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole, + Made rolls and honey-cakes. So come along. + + XAN. (Declining.) You are too kind. + + MAID. I will not let you go. I will not LET you! Why, she's stewing + slices Of juicy bird's-flesh, and she's making comfits, And tempering + down her richest wine. Come, dear, Come along in. + + XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her. + + MAID. O you're jesting, I shall not let you off: there's such a lovely + Flute-girl all ready, and we've two or three Dancing-girls also. + + XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls? + + MAID. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed. + Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up + The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables. + + XAN. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls + Of whom you spake, I'm coming in + Myself. Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me. + + DIO. Hi! stop! you're not in earnest, just because I dressed you up, in + fun, as Heracles? Come, don't keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift + And carry in the traps yourself. + + XAN. Why! what! You are never going to strip me of these togs + You gave me! + + DIO. Going to? No, I'm doing it now. + Off with that lion-skin. + + XAN. Bear witness all + The gods shall judge between us. + + DIO. Gods indeed! Why how could <i>you</i> (the vain and foolish thought!) + A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son? + + XAN. All right then, take them; maybe, if God will, + You'll soon require my services again. + + CHOR. This is the part of a dexterous clever + Man with his wits about him ever, + One who has travelled the world to see; + Always to shift, and to keep through all + Close to the sunny side of the wall; + Not like a pictured block to be, + Standing always in one position; + Nay but to veer, with expedition, + And ever to catch the favouring breeze, + This is the part of a shrewd tactician, + This is to be a—THERAMENES! + DIO. Truly an exquisite joke 'twould be, + Him with a dancing girl to see, + Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs; + Me, like a slave, beside him standing, + Aught that he wants to his lordship handing; + Then as the damsel fair he hugs, + Seeing me all on fire to embrace her, + He would perchance (for there's no man baser), + Turning him round like a lazy lout, + Straight on my mouth deliver a facer, + Knocking my ivory choirmen out. + + HOSTESS. O Plathane! Plathane! Here's that naughty man, + That's he who got into our tavern once, + And ate up sixteen loaves. + + PLATHANE. O, so he is! The very man. + + XAN. Bad luck for somebody! + + HOS. O and, besides, those twenty bits of stew, + Half-obol pieces. + + XAN. Somebody's going to catch it! + + HOS. That garlic too. + + DIO. Woman, you're talking nonsense. You don't know what you're saying. + + HOS. O, you thought I shouldn't know you with your buskins on! + Ah, and I've not yet mentioned all that fish, + No, nor the new-made cheese: he gulped it down, + Baskets and all, unlucky that we were. + And when I just alluded to the price, + He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull. + + XAN. Yes, that's his way: that's what he always does. + + HOS. O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad. + + PLA. O, that he did. + + HOS. And terrified us so + We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I. + Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs. + + XAN. That's his way too; but something must be done. + + HOS. Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here! + + PLA. O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus! We'll pay you out to-day. + + HOS. O filthy throat, O how I'd like to take a stone, and hack + Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares. + + PLA. I'd like to pitch you in the deadman's pit. + + HOS. I'd like to get a reaping-hook and scoop + That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe. + But I'll to Cleon: he'll soon serve his writs; + He'll twist it out of you to-day, he will. + + DRO. Perdition seize me, if I don't love Xanthias. + + XAN. Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking. + I won't be Heracles. + + DRO. O, don't say so, Dear, darling Xanthias. + + XAN. Why, how can I, A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son! + + DRO. Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it, + And if you pummel me, I won't complain. + But if I strip you of these togs again, + Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children, + And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus. + + XAN. That oath contents me: on those terms I take them. + + CHOR. Now that at last you appear once more, + Wearing the garb that at first you wore, + Wielding the club and the tawny skin, + Now it is yours to be up and doing, + Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing, + Mindful of him whose guise you are in. + If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you + Suffer a word of alarm to escape you, + Showing yourself but a feckless knave, + Then will your master at once undrape you, + Then you'll again be the toiling slave. + + XAN. There, I admit, you have given to me a + Capital hint, and the like idea, + Friends, had occurred to myself before. + Truly if anything good befell + He would be wanting, I know full well, + Wanting to take to the togs once more. + Nevertheless, while in these I'm vested, + Ne'er shall you find me craven-crested, + No, for a dittany look I'll wear, + Aye and methinks it will soon be tested, + Hark! how the portals are rustling there. + + AEAC. Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him, + Drag him to justice! + + DIO. Somebody's going to catch it. + + XAN. (<i>Striking out</i>.) Hands off! get away! stand back! + + ABAC. Eh? You're for fighting. Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas, + Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave. + + DIO. Now isn't it a shame the man should strike + And he a thief besides? + + AEAC. A monstrous shame! + + DIO. A regular burning shame! + + XAN. By the Lord Zeus, + If ever I was here before, if ever + I stole one hair's-worth from you, let me die! + And now I'll make you a right noble offer, + Arrest my lad: torture him as you will, + And if you find I'm guilty, take and kill me. + + AEAC. Torture him, how? + + XAN. In any mode you please. + Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid: + Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge + Of prickly bristles: only not with this, + A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek. + + AEAC. A fair proposal. If I strike too hard + And maim the boy, I'll make you compensation. + + XAN. I shan't require it. Take him out and flog him. + + ABAC. Nay, but I'll do it here before your eyes. + Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak + The truth, young fellow. + + DIO. (<i>In agony</i>.) Man! don't torture ME! + I am a god. You'll blame yourself hereafter + If you touch ME. + + AEAC. Hillo! What's that you are saying? + + DIO. I say I'm Bacchus, son of Zeus, a god, Anid <i>he's</i> the slave. + + AEAC. You hear him? + + XAN. Hear him? Yes. All the more reason you should flog him well. + For if he is a god, he won't perceive it. + + DIO. Well, but you say that you're a god yourself. + So why not <i>you</i> be flogged as well as I? + + XAN. A fair proposal. And be this the test, + Whichever of us two you first behold + Flinching or crying out—he's not the god. + + AEAC. Upon my word you're quite the gentleman, + You're all for right and justice. Strip then, both. + + XAN. How can you test us fairly? + + AEAC. Easily, I'll give you blow for blow. + + XAN. A good idea. We're ready! Now! (<i>Aeacus strikes him</i>), see if you + catch me flinching. + + AEAC. I struck you. + + XAN. (<i>Incredulously</i>.) No! + + ABAC Well, it seems "no," indeed. + Now then I'll strike the other (<i>Strikes DIO</i>.). + + DIO. Tell me when? + + AEAC. I struck you. + + DIO. Struck me? Then why didn't I sneeze? + + AEAC. Don't know, I'm sure. I'll try the other again. + + XAN. And quickly too. Good gracious! + + AEAC. Why "good gracious"? Not hurt you, did I? + + XAN. No, I merely thought of The Diomeian feast of Heracles. + + AEAC. A holy man! 'Tis now the other's turn. + + DIO. Hi! Hi! + + AEAC. Hallo! + + DIO. Look at those horsemen, look! + + AEAC. But why these tears? + + DIO. There's such a smell of onions. + + AEAC. Then you don't mind it? + + DIO. (<i>Cheerfully</i>.) Mind it? Not a bit. + + AEAC. Well, I must go to the other one again. + + XAN. O! O! + + AEAC. Hallo! + + XAN. Do pray pull out this thorn. + + AEAC. What does it mean? 'Tis this one's turn again. + + DIO. (<i>Shrieking</i>.) Apollo! Lord! (<i>Calmly</i>) of Delos and of Pytho. + + XAN. He flinched! You heard him? + + DIO. Not at all; a jolly Verse of Hipponax flashed across my mind. + + XAN. You don't half do it: cut his flanks to pieces. + + AEAC. By Zeus, well thought on. Turn your belly here. + + DIO. (<i>Screaming</i>.) Poseidon! + + XAN. There! he's flinching. + + DIO. (Singing) who dost reign + Amongst the Aegean peaks and creeks + And o'er the deep blue main. + + AEAC. No, by Demeter, still I can't find out + Which is the god, but come ye both indoors; + My lord himself and Persephassa there, + Being gods themselves, will soon find out the truth. + + DIO. Right! right! I only wish you had thought of that + Before you gave me those tremendous whacks. + + CHOR. Come, Muse, to our Mystical Chorus, O come to the joy of my + song, + O see on the benches before us that countless and wonderful throng, + Where wits by the thousand abide, with more than a Cleophon's + pride— + On the lips of that foreigner base, of Athens the bane and disgrace, + There is shrieking, his kinsman by race, + The garrulous swallow of Thrace; + From that perch of exotic descent, + Rejoicing her sorrow to vent, + She pours to her spirit's content, a nightingale's woeful lament, + That e'en though the voting be equal, his ruin will soon be the + sequel. + + Well it suits the holy Chorus evermore with counsel wise + To exhort and teach the city: this we therefore now + advise— + End the townsmen's apprehensions; equalize the rights of all; + If by Phrynichus's wrestlings some perchance sustained a fall, + Yet to these 'tis surely open, having put away their sin, + For their slips and vacillations pardon at your hands to win. + Give your brethren back their franchise. + Sin and shame it were that slaves, + Who have once with stern devotion fought your battle on the waves, + Should be straightway lords and masters, yea Plataeans fully + blown— + Not that this deserves our censure; there I praise you; there alone + Has the city, in her anguish, policy and wisdom + shown— + Nay but these, of old accustomed on our ships to fight and win, + (They, their father too before them), these our very kith and kin, + You should likewise, when they ask you, pardon for their single sin. + O by nature best and wisest, O relax your jealous ire, + Let us all the world as kinsfolk and as citizens acquire, + All who on our ships will battle well and bravely by our side + If we cocker up our city, narrowing her with senseless pride + Now when she is rocked and reeling in the cradles of the sea, + Here again will after ages deem we acted brainlessly. + + And O if I'm able to scan the habits and life of a man + Who shall rue his iniquities soon! not long shall that little baboon, + That Cleigenes shifty and small, the wickedest bathman of all + Who are lords of the earth—which is brought from the isle of + Cimolus, and wrought + With nitre and lye into soap— + Not long shall he vex us, I hope. + And this the unlucky one knows, + Yet ventures a peace to oppose, + And being addicted to blows he carries a stick as he goes, + Lest while he is tipsy and reeling, some robber his cloak should be + stealing. + + Often has it crossed my fancy, that the city loves to deal + With the very best and noblest members of her commonweal, + Just as with our ancient coinage, and the newly-minted gold. + Yea for these, our sterling pieces, all of pure Athenian mould, + All of perfect die and metal, all the fairest of the fair, + All of workmanship unequalled, proved and valued every-where + + Both amongst our own Hellenes and Barbarians far away, + These we use not: but the worthless pinchbeck coins of yesterday, + Vilest die and basest metal, now we always use instead. + Even so, our sterling townsmen, nobly born and nobly bred, + Men of worth and rank and metal, men of honourable fame, + Trained in every liberal science, choral dance and manly game, + These we treat with scorn and insult, but the strangers newliest + come, + Worthless sons of worthless fathers, pinchbeck townsmen, yellowy + scum, + Whom in earlier days the city hardly would have stooped to use + Even for her scapegoat victims, these for every task we choose. + O unwise and foolish people, yet to mend your ways begin; + Use again the good and useful: so hereafter, if ye win + 'Twill be due to this your wisdom: if ye fall, at least 'twill be + Not a fall that brings dishonour, falling from a worthy tree. + + AEAC. By Zeus the Saviour, quite the gentleman + Your master is. + + XAN. Gentleman? I believe you. He's all for wine and women, is my + master. + + AEAC. But not to have flogged you, when the truth came out + That you, the slave, were passing off as master! + + XAN. He'd get the worst of that. + + AEAC. Bravo! that's spoken Like a true slave: that's what I love + myself. + + XAN. You love it, do you? + + AEAC. Love it? I'm entranced + When I can curse my lord behind his back. + + XAN. How about grumbling, when you have felt the stick, + And scurry out of doors? + + AEAC. That's jolly too. + + XAN. How about prying? + + AEAC. That beats everything! + + XAN. Great Kin-god Zeus! And what of overhearing + Your master's secrets? + + AEAC. What? I'm mad with joy. + + XAN. And blabbing them abroad? + + AEAC. O heaven and earth! When I do that, I can't contain myself. + + XAN. Phoebus Apollo! clap your hand in mine, Kiss and be kissed: and + prithee tell me this, Tell me by Zeus, our rascaldom's own god, What's + all that noise within? What means this hubbub And row? + + AEAC. That's Aeschylus and Euripides. + + XAN. Eh? + + AEAC. Wonderful, wonderful things are going on. The dead are rioting, + taking different sides. + + XAN. Why, what's the matter? + + AEAC. There's a custom here + With all the crafts, the good and noble crafts, + That the chief master of his art in each + Shall have his dinner in the assembly hall, + And sit by Pluto's side. + + XAN. I understand. + + AEAC. Until another comes, more wise than he + In the same art: then must the first give way. + + XAN. And how has this disturbed our Aeschylus? + + AEAC. 'Twas he that occupied the tragic chair, + As, in his craft, the noblest. + + XAN. Who does now? + + AEAC. But when Euripides came down, he kept + Flourishing off before the highwaymen, + Thieves, burglars, parricides—these form our mob + In Hades—till with listening to his twists + And turns, and pleas and counterpleas, they went + Mad on the man, and hailed him first and wisest: + Elate with this, he claimed the tragic chair + Where Aeschylus was seated. + + XAN. Wasn't he pelted? + + AEAC. Not he: the populace clamoured out to try + Which of the twain was wiser in his art. + + XAN. You mean the rascals? + + AEAC. Aye, as high as heaven! + + XAN. But were there none to side with Aeschylus? + + AEAC. Scanty and sparse the good, (<i>Regards the audience</i>) the same as + here. + + XAN. And what does Pluto now propose to do? + + AEAC. He means to hold a tournament, and bring + Their tragedies to the proof. + + XAN. But Sophocles, How came not he to claim the tragic chair? + + AEAC. Claim it? Not he! When <i>he</i> came down, he kissed + With reverence Aeschylus, and clasped his hand, + And yielded willingly the chair to him. + But now he's going, says Cleidemides, + To sit third-man: and then if Aeschylus win, + He'll stay content: if not, for his art's sake, + He'll fight to the death against Euripides. + + XAN. Will it come off? + + AEAC. O yes, by Zeus, directly. + And then, I hear, will wonderful things be done, + The art poetic will be weighed in scales. + + XAN. What! weigh out tragedy, like butcher's meat? + + AEAC. Levels they'll bring, and measuring-tapes for words, + And moulded oblongs. + + XAN. Is it bricks they are making? + + AEAC. Wedges and compasses: for Euripides Vows that he'll test the + dramas, word by word. + + XAN. Aeschylus chafes at this, I fancy. + + AEAC. Well, He lowered his brows, upglaring like a bull. + + XAN. And who's to be the judge? + + AEAC. There came the rub. Skilled men were hard to find: for with the + Athenians Aeschylus, somehow, did not hit it off. + + XAN. Too many burglars, I expect, he thought. + + AEAC. And all the rest, he said, were trash and nonsense + To judge poetic wits. So then at last + They chose your lord, an expert in the art. + But go we in: for when our lords are bent + On urgent business, that means blows for us. + + CHOR. O surely with terrible wrath will the thunder-voiced monarch be + filled, + When he sees his opponent beside him, the tonguester, the + artifice-skilled, + Stand, whetting his tusks for the fight! O surely, his eyes + rolling-fell + Will with terrible madness be fraught! + O then will be charging of plume-waving words with their + wild-floating mane, + And then will be whirling of splinters, and phrases smoothed down + with the plane, + When the man would the grand-stepping maxims, the language gigantic, + repel + Of the hero-creator of thought. + There will his shaggy-born crest upbristle for anger and woe, + Horribly frowning and growling, his fury will launch at the foe + Huge-clamped masses of words, with exertion Titanic up—tearing + Great ship-timber planks for the fray. + But here will the tongue be at work, uncoiling, word-testing + refining, + Sophist-creator of phrases, dissecting, detracting, maligning, + Shaking the envious bits, and with subtle analysis paring + The lung's large labour away. + + EURIPIDES. Don't talk to me; I won't give up the chair, I say I am + better in the art than he. + + DIO. You hear him, Aeschylus: why don't you speak? + + EUR. He'll do the grand at first, the juggling trick + He used to play in all his tragedies. + + DIO. Come, my fine fellow, pray don't talk too big. + + EUR. I know the man, I've scanned him through and through, + A savage-creating stubborn-pulling fellow, + Uncurbed, unfettered, uncontrolled of speech, + Unperiphrastic, bombastiloquent. + + AESCHYLUS. Hah! sayest thou so, child of the garden quean! + And this to ME, thou chattery-babble-collector, + Thou pauper-creating rags-and-patches-stitcher? + Thou shalt abye it dearly! + + DIO. Pray, be still; Nor heat thy soul to fury, Aeschylus. + + AESCH. Not till I've made you see the sort of man + This cripple-maker is who crows so loudly. + + DIO. Bring out a ewe, a black-fleeced ewe, my boys: + Here's a typhoon about to burst upon us. + + AESCH. Thou picker-up of Cretan monodies, + Foisting thy tales of incest on the stage— + + DIO. Forbear, forbear, most honoured Aeschylus; + And you, my poor Euripides, begone + If you are wise, out of this pitiless hail, + Lest with some heady word he crack your scull + And batter out your brain-less Telephus. + And not with passion. Aeschylus, but calmly + Test and be tested. 'Tis not meet for poets + To scold each other, like two baking-girls. + But you go roaring like an oak on fire. + + EUR. I'm ready, I! + I don't draw back one bit. + I'll lash or, if he will, let him lash first + The talk, the lays, the sinews of a play: + Aye and my Peleus, aye and Aeolus, + And Meleager, aye and Telephus. + + DIO. And what do <i>you</i> propose? Speak, Aeschylus. + + AESCH. I could have wished to meet him otherwhere. + We fight not here on equal terms. + + DIO. Why not? + + AESCH. My poetry survived me: his died with him: + He's got it here, all handy to recite. + Howbeit, if so you wish it, so we'll have it. + + DIO. O bring me fire, and bring me frankincense. + I'll pray, or e'er the clash of wits begin, + To judge the strife with high poetic skill. + Meanwhile (<i>to the Chorus</i>) invoke the Muses with a song. + + CHOR. O Muses, the daughters divine of Zeus, the immaculate Nine, + Who gaze from your mansions serene on intellects subtle and keen, + When down to the tournament lists, in bright-polished wit they + descend, + With wrestling and turnings and twists in the battle of words to + contend, + O come and behold what the two antagonist poets can do, + Whose mouths are the swiftest to teach grand language and filings of + speech: + For now of their wits is the sternest encounter commencing in + earnest. + + DIO. Ye two, put up your prayers before ye start. + + AESCH. Demeter, mistress, nourisher of my soul, + O make me worthy of thy mystic rites! + + DIO. (<i>To Eur</i>.) Now put on incense, you. + + EUR. Excuse me, no; My vows are paid to other gods than these. + + DIO. What, a new coinage of your own? + + EUR. Precisely. + + DIO. Pray then to them, those private gods of yours. + + EUR. Ether, my pasture, volubly-rolling tongue, + Intelligent wit and critic nostrils keen, + O well and neatly may I trounce his plays! + + CHOR. We also are yearning from these to be learning + Some stately measure, some majestic grand + Movement telling of conflicts nigh. + Now for battle arrayed they stand, + Tongues embittered, and anger high. + Each has got a venturesome will, + Each an eager and nimble mind; + One will wield, with artistic skill, + Clearcut phrases, and wit refined; + Then the other, with words defiant, + Stern and strong, like an angry giant + Laying on with uprooted trees, + Soon will scatter a world of these + Superscholastic subtleties. + + DIO. Now then, commence your arguments, and mind you both display + True wit, not metaphors, nor things which any fool could say. + + EUR. As for myself, good people all, I'll tell you by-and-by + My own poetic worth and claims; but first of all I'll try + To show how this portentous quack beguiled the silly fools + Whose tastes were nurtured, ere he came, in Phrynichus's schools. + He'd bring some single mourner on, seated and veiled, 'twould be + Achilles, say, or Niobe—the face you could not + see— + An empty show of tragic woe, who uttered not one thing. + + DIO. Tis true. + + EUR. Then in the Chorus came, and rattled off a string + Of four continuous lyric odes: the mourner never stirred. + + DIO. I liked it too. I sometimes think that I those mutes preferred + To all your chatterers now-a-days. + + EUR. Because, if you must know, + You were an ass. + + DIO. An ass, no doubt: what made him do it though? + + EUR. That was his quackery, don't you see, to set the audience guessing + When Niobe would speak; meanwhile, the drama was progressing. + + DIO. The rascal, how he took me in! 'Twas shameful, was it not? + (<i>To Aesch</i>.) What makes you stamp and fidget so? + + EUR. He's catching it so hot. + So when he had humbugged thus awhile, and now his wretched play + Was halfway through, a dozen words, great wild-bull words, he'd say, + Fierce Bugaboos, with bristling crests, and shaggy eyebrows too, + Which not a soul could understand. + + AESCH. O heavens! + + DIO. Be quiet, do. + + EUR. But not one single word was clear. + + DIO. St! don't your teeth be gnashing. + + EUR. 'Twas all Scamanders, moated camps, and griffin-eagles flashing In + burnished copper on the shields, chivalric-precipice-high Expressions, + hard to comprehend. + + DIO. Aye, by the Powers, and I + Full many a sleepless night have spent in anxious thought, because + I'd find the tawny cock-horse out, what sort of bird it was! + + AESCH. It was a sign, you stupid dolt, engraved the ships upon. + + DIO. Eryxis I supposed it was, Philoxenus's son. + + EUR. Now really should a cock be brought into a tragic play? + + AESCH. You enemy of gods and men, what was <i>your</i> practice, pray? + + EUR. No cock-horse in <i>my</i> plays, by Zeus, no goat-stag there you'll + see, + Such figures as are blazoned forth in Median tapestry. + When first I took the art from you, bloated and swoln, poor thing, + With turgid gasconading words and heavy dieting, + First I reduced and toned her down, and made her slim and neat + With wordlets and with exercise and poultices of beet, + And next a dose of chatterjuice, distilled from books, I gave her, + And monodies she took, with sharp Cephisophon for flavour. + I never used haphazard words, or plunged abruptly in; + Who entered first explained at large the drama's origin + And source. + + DIO. Its source, I really trust, was better than your own. + + EUR. Then from the very opening lines no idleness was shown; + The mistress talked with all her might, the servant talked as much, + The master talked, the maiden talked, the beldame talked. + + AESCH. For such an outrage was not death your due? + + EUR. No, by Apollo, no: That was my democratic way. + + DIO. Ah, let that topic go. Your record is not there, my friend, + particularly good. + + EUR. Then next I taught all these to speak. + + AESCH. You did so, and I would + That ere such mischief you had wrought, your very lungs had split. + + EUR. Canons of verse I introduced, and neatly chiselled wit; + To look, to scan: to plot, to plan: to twist, to turn, to woo: + On all to spy; in all to pry. + + AESCH. You did: I say so too. + + EUR. I showed them scenes of common life, the things we know and see, + Where any blunder would at once by all detected be. + I never blustered on, or took their breath and wits away + By Cycnuses or Memnons clad in terrible array, + With bells upon their horses' heads, the audience to dismay. + Look at <i>his</i> pupils, look at mine: and there the contrast view. + Uncouth Megaenetus is his, and rough Phormisius too; + Great long-beard-lance-and-trumpet-men, flesh-tearers with the pine: + But natty smart Theramenes, and Cleitophon are mine. + + DIO. Theramenes? a clever man and wonderfully sly: + Immerse him in a flood of ills, he'll soon be high and dry, + "A Kian with a kappa, sir, not Chian with a chi." + + EUR. I taught them all these knowing ways + By chopping logic in my plays, + And making all my speakers try + To reason out the How and Why. + So now the people trace the springs, + The sources and the roots of things, + And manage all their households too + Far better than they used to do, + Scanning and searching <i>What's amiss?</i> + And, <i>Why was that?</i> And, <i>How is this?</i> + + DIO. Ay, truly, never now a man + Comes home, but he begins to scan; + And to his household loudly cries, + <i>Why, where's my pitcher? What's the matter? + 'Tis dead and gone my last year's platter. + Who gnawed these olives? Bless the sprat, + Who nibbled off the head of that? + And where's the garlic vanished, pray, + I purchased only yesterday?</i> + —Whereas, of old, our stupid youths + Would sit, with open mouths and eyes, + Like any dull-brained Mammacouths. + + CHOR. "All this thou beholdest, Achilles our boldest." + And what wilt thou reply? + Draw tight the rein + Lest that fiery soul of thine + Whirl thee out of the listed plain, + Past the olives, and o'er the line. + Dire and grievous the charge he brings. + See thou answer him, noble heart, + Not with passionate bickerings. + Shape thy course with a sailor's art, + Reef the canvas, shorten the sails, + Shift them edgewise to shun the gales. + When the breezes are soft and low, + Then, well under control, you'll go + Quick and quicker to strike the foe. + O first of all the Hellenic bards high loftily-towering verse to + rear, + And tragic phrase from the dust to raise, pour forth thy fountain + with right good cheer. + + AESCH. My wrath is hot at this vile mischance, and my spirit revolts at + the thought that I + Must bandy words with a fellow like <i>him</i>: but lest he should vaunt + that I can't reply— + Come, tell me what are the points for which a noble poet our praise + obtains. + + EUR. For his ready wit, and his counsels sage, and because the citizen + folk he trains + To be better townsmen and worthier men. + + AESCH. If then you have done the very reverse, + Found noble-hearted and virtuous men, and altered them, each and all, + for the worse, + Pray what is the need you deserve to get? + + DIO. Nay, ask not <i>him</i>. He deserves to die. + + AESCH. For just consider what style of men he received from me, great + six-foot-high + Heroical souls, who never would blench from a townsman's duties in + peace or war; + Not idle loafers, or low buffoons, or rascally scamps such as now they + are. + But men who were breathing spears and helms, and the snow-white plume + in its crested pride + The greave, and the dart, and the warrior's heart in its seven-fold + casing of tough bull-hide. + + DIO. He'll stun me, I know, with his armoury-work; this business is + going from bad to worse. + + EUR. And how did you manage to make them so grand, exalted, and brave + with your wonderful verse? + + DIO. Come, Aeschylus, answer, and don't stand mute in your self-willed + pride and arrogant spleen. + + AESCH. A drama I wrote with the War-god filled. + + DIO. Its name? + + AESCH. 'Tis the "Seven against Thebes" that I mean. Which who so + beheld, with eagerness swelled to rush to the battlefield there and + then. + + DIO. O that was a scandalous thing you did! You have made the Thebans + mightier men, + More eager by far for the business of war. + Now, therefore, receive this punch on the head. + + AESCH. Ah, <i>ye</i> might have practised the same yourselves, but ye turned + to other pursuits instead. + Then next the "Persians" I wrote, in praise of the noblest deed that + the world can show, + And each man longed for the victor's wreath, to fight and to vanquish + his country's foe. + + DIO. I was pleased, I own, when I heard their moan for old Darius, + their great king, dead; + When they smote together their hands, like this, and <i>Evir alake</i> the + Chorus said. + + AESCH. Aye, such are the poet's appropriate works: and just consider + how all along + From the very first they have wrought you good, the noble bards, the + masters of song. + First, Orpheus taught you religious rites, and from bloody murder to + stay your hands: + Musaeus healing and oracle lore; and Hesiod all the culture of lands, + The time to gather, the time to plough. And gat not Homer his glory + divine + By singing of valour, and honour, and right, and the sheen of the + battle-extended line, + The ranging of troops and the arming of men? + + DIO. O ay, but he didn't teach <i>that</i>, I opine, + To Pantacles; when he was leading the show I couldn't imagine what he + was at, + He had fastened his helm on the top of his head, he was trying to + fasten his plume upon that. + + AESCH. But others, many and brave, he taught, of whom was Lamachus, + hero true; + And thence my spirit the impress took, and many a lion-heart chief I + drew, + Parocluses, Teucers, illustrious names; for I fain the citizen-folk + would spur + To stretch themselves to <i>their</i> measure and height, when-ever the + trumpet of war they hear. + But Phaedras and Stheneboeas? No! no harlotry business deformed my + plays. + And none can say that ever I drew a love sick woman in all my days. + + EUR. For <i>you</i> no lot or portion had got in Queen Aphrodite. + + AESCH. Thank Heaven for that. + But ever on you and yours, my friend, the mighty goddess mightily sat; + Yourself she cast to the ground at last. + + DIO. O ay, that came uncommonly pat. + You showed how cuckolds are made, and lo, you were struck yourself by + the very same fate. + + EUR. But say, you cross-grained censor of mine, how <i>my</i> Stheneboeas + could harm the state. + + AESCH. Full many a noble dame, the wife of a noble citizen, hemlock + took, + And died, unable the shame and sin of your Bellerophonscenes to brook. + + EUR. Was then, I wonder, the tale I told of Phaedra's passionate love + untrue? + + AESCH. Not so: but tales of incestuous vice the sacred poet should hide + from view, + Nor ever exhibit and blazon forth on the public stage to the public + ken. + For boys a teacher at school is found, but we, the poets, are teachers + of men. + We are BOUND things honest and pure to speak. + + EUR. And to speak great Lycabettuses, pray, + And massive blocks of Parnassian rocks, is <i>that</i> things honest and + pure to say? + In human fashion we ought to speak. + + AESCH. Alas, poor witling, and can't you see + That for mighty thoughts and heroic aims, the words themselves + must appropriate be? + And grander belike on the ear should strike the speech of heroes and + godlike powers, + Since even the robes that invest their limbs are statelier, grander + robes than ours. + Such was <i>my</i> plan: but when <i>you</i> began, you spoilt and degraded it + all. + + EUR. How so? + + AESCH. Your kings in tatters and rags you dressed, and brought them on, + a beggarly show, + To move, forsooth, our pity and ruth. + + EUR. And what was the harm, I should like to know. + + AESCH. No more will a wealthy citizen now equip for the state a galley + of war. He wraps his limbs in tatters and rags, and whines <i>he is poor, + too poor by far</i>. + + DIO. But under his rags he is wearing a vest, as woolly and soft as a + man could wish. + Let him gull the state, and he's off to the mart; an eager, extravagant + buyer of fish. + + AESCH. Moreover to prate, to harangue, to debate, is now the ambition + of all in the state. + Each exercise-ground is in consequence found deserted and empty: to + evil repute + Your lessons have brought our youngsters, and taught our sailors to + challenge, discuss, and refute + The orders they get from their captains and yet, when <i>I</i> was alive, + I protest that the knaves + Knew nothing at all, save for rations' to call, and to sing "Rhyppapae" + as they pulled through the waves. + + DIO. And bedad to let fly from their sterns in the eye of the fellow + who tugged at the undermost oar, + And a jolly young messmate with filth to besmirch, and to land for a + filching adventure ashore; But now they harangue, and dispute, and + won't row, And idly and aimlessly float to and fro. + + AESCH. Of what ills is he NOT the creator and cause? + Consider the scandalous scenes that he draws, + His bawds, and his panders, his women who give + Give birth in the sacredest shrine, + Whilst others with brothers are wedded and bedded, + And others opine + That "not to be living" is truly "to live." + And therefore our city is swarming to-day + With clerks and with demagogue-monkeys, who play + Their jackanape tricks at all times, in all places, + Deluding the people of Athens; but none + Has training enough in athletics to run + With the torch in his hand at the races. + + DIO. By the Powers, you are right! At the Panathenaea + I laughed till I felt like a potsherd to see a + Pale, paunchy young gentleman pounding along, + With his head butting forward, the last of the throng, + In the direst of straits; and behold at the gates, + The Ceramites flapped him, and smacked him, and slapped him, + In the ribs, and the loin, and the flank, and the groin, + And still, as they spanked him, he puffed and he panted, + Till at one mighty cuff, he discharged such a puff + That he blew out his torch and levanted. + + CHOR. Dread the battle, and stout the combat, mighty and manifold + looms the war. + Hard to decide in the fight they're waging, + One like a stormy tempest raging, + One alert in the rally and skirmish, clever to parry and foin and + spar. + Nay but don't be content to sit + Always in one position only: many the fields for your keen-edged wit. + On then, wrangle in every way, + Argue, battle, be flayed and flay, + Old and new from your stores display, + Yea, and strive with venturesome daring something subtle and neat to + say. + + Fear ye this, that to-day's spectators lack the grace of artistic + lore, + Lack the knowledge they need for taking + All the points ye will soon be making? + Fear it not: the alarm is groundless: that, be sure, is the case no + more. + All have fought the campaign ere this: + Each a book of the words is holding; never a single point they'll + miss. + Bright their natures, and now, I ween, + Newly whetted, and sharp, and keen. + Dread not any defect of wit, + Battle away without misgiving, sure that the audience, at least, are + fit. + + EUR. Well then I'll turn me to your prologues now, + Beginning first to test the first beginning + Of this fine poet's plays. Why he's obscure + Even in the enunciation of the facts. + + DIO. Which of them will you test? + + EUR. Many: but first give as that famous one from the Oresteia. + + DIO. St! Silence all! Now, Aeschylus, begin. + + AESCH. <i>Grave Hermes, witnessing a father's power. Be thou my saviour + and mine aid to-day, For here I come and hither I return.</i> + + DIO. Any fault there? + + EUR. A dozen faults and more. + + DIO. Eh! why the lines are only three in all. + + EUR. But every one contains a score of faults. + + DIO. Now Aeschylus, keep silent; if you don't + You won't get off with three iambic lines. + + AESCH. Silent for <i>him</i>! + + DIO. If <i>my</i> advice you'll take. + + EUR. Why, at first starting here's a fault sky high. + + AESCH. (<i>To Dio</i>.) You see your folly. + + DIO. Have your way; I care not. + + AESCH. (<i>To Eur</i>.) What is my fault? + + EUR. Begin the lines again. + + AESCH. <i>Grave Hermes, witnessing a father's power</i>— + + EUR. And this beside his murdered father's grave Orestes speaks? + + AESCH. I say not otherwise. + + EUR. Then does he mean that when his father fell + By craft and violence at a woman's hand, + The god of craft was witnessing the deed? + + AESCH. It was not he: it was the Helper Hermes + He called the grave: and this he showed by adding + It was his sire's prerogative he held. + + EUR. Why this is worse than all. If from his father + He held this office grave, why then— + + DIO. He was A graveyard rifler on his father's side. + + AESCH. Bacchus, the wine you drink is stale and fusty. + + DIO. Give him another: (<i>to Eur</i>.) you, look out for faults. + + AESCH. <i>Be thou my saviour and mine aid to-day, For here I come, and + hither I return</i>. + + EUR. The same thing twice says clever Aeschylus. + + DIO. How twice? + + EUR. Why, just consider: I'll explain. "I come," says he; and "I + return," says he: It's the same thing, to "come" and to "return." + + DIO. Aye, just as if you said, "Good fellow, lend me + A kneading trough: likewise, a trough to knead in." + + AESCH. It is not so, you everlasting talker, + They're not the same, the words are right enough. + + DIO. How so? inform me how you use the words. + + AESCH. A man, not banished from his home, may "come" + To any land, with no especial chance. + A home-bound exile both "returns" and "comes." + + DIO. O good, by Apollo! What do you say, Euripides, to that? + + EUR. I say Orestes never did "return." He came in secret: nobody + recalled him. + + DIO. O good, by Hermes! (<i>Aside</i>.) I've not the least suspicion what he + means. + + EUR. Repeat another line. + + DIO. Ay, Aeschylus, Repeat one instantly: <i>you</i>, mark what's wrong. + + AESCH. <i>Now on this funeral mound I call my father To hear, to + hearken.</i> + + EUR. There he is again. To "hear," to "hearken"; the same thing, + exactly. + + DIO. Aye, but he's speaking to the dead, you knave, + Who cannot hear us though we call them thrice. + + AESCH. And how do you make <i>your</i> prologues? + + EUR. You shall hear; And if you find one single thing said twice, + Or any useless padding, spit upon me. + + DIO. Well, fire away: I'm all agog to hear + Your very accurate and faultless prologues. + + EUR. <i>A happy man was Oedipus at first</i>— + + AESCH. Not so, by Zeus; a most unhappy man. + Who, not yet born nor yet conceived, Apollo + Foretold would be his father's murderer. + How could he be a happy man at first. + + EUR. <i>Then he became the wretchedest of men.</i> + + AESCH. Not so, by Zeus; he never ceased to be. No sooner born, than + they exposed the babe (And that in winter), in an earthen crock, lest + he should grow a man, and slay his father. Then with both ankles + pierced and swoln, he limped away to Polybus: still young, he married + an ancient crone, and her his mother too. Then scratched out both his + eyes. + + DIO. Happy indeed had he been Erasinides's colleague! + + EUR. Nonsense; I say my prologues are first rate. + + AESCH. Nay then, by Zeus, no longer line by line I'll maul your + phrases: but with heaven to aid I'll smash your prologues with a bottle + of oil. + + EUR. You mine with a bottle of oil? + + AESCH. With only one. You frame your prologues so that each and all + Fit in with a "bottle of oil," or "coverlet-skin," Or "reticule-bag." + I'll prove it here, and now. + + EUR. You'll prove it? You? + + AESCH. I will. + + DIO. Well then, begin. + + EUR. <i>'Aegyptus, sailing with his fifty sons, As ancient legends mostly + tell the tale, Touching at Argos</i>, + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + EUR. Hang it, what's that? Confound that bottle of oil! + + DIO. Give him another: let him try again. + + EUR. <i>Bacchus, who, clad in fawnskins, leaps and bounds + With torch and thyrsus in the choral dance Along Parnassus</i>. + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + DIO. Ah me, we are stricken—with that bottle again! + + EUR. Pooh, pooh, that's nothing. I've a prologue here, He'll never tack + his bottle of oil to this: <i>No man is blest in every single thing. One + is of noble birth, but lacking means. Another, baseborn</i>, + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + DIO. Euripides! + + EUR. Well? + + DIO. Lower your sails, my boy; + This bottle of oil is going to blow a gale. + + EUR. O, by Demeter, I don't care one bit; + Now from his hands I'll strike that bottle of oil. + + DIO. Go on then, go; but ware the bottle of oil. + + EUR. <i>Once Cadmus, quitting the Sidonian town, Agenor's offspring</i> + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + DIO. O pray, my man, buy off that bottle of oil, Or else he'll smash + our prologues all to bits. + + EUR. I buy of <i>him</i>? + + DIO. If my advice you'll take. + + EUR. No, no, I've many a prologue yet to say, To which he can't tack on + his bottle of oil. <i>Pelops, the son of Tantalus, while driving His + mares to Pisa</i> + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + DIO. There! he tacked on the bottle of oil again. O for heaven's sake, + pay him its price, dear boy; You'll get it for an obol, spick and span. + + EUR. Not yet, by Zeus; I've plenty of prologues left. <i>Oeneus once + reaping</i> + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + EUR. Pray let me finish one entire line first. <i>Oeneus once reaping an + abundant harvest, Offering the firstfruits</i> + + AESCH. Lost his bottle of oil. + + DIO. What in the act of offering? Fie! Who stole it? + + EUR. O don't keep bothering! Let him try with this! <i>Zeus, as by + Truth's own voice the tale is told,</i> + + DIO. No, he'll cut in with "Lost his bottle of oil!" + Those bottles of oil on all your prologues seem + To gather and grow, like styes upon the eye. + Turn to his melodies now for goodness' sake. + + EUR. O I can easily show that he's a poor + Melody-maker; makes them all alike. + + CHOR. What, O what will be done! + Strange to think that he dare + Blame the bard who has won, + More than all in our days, + Fame and praise for his lays, + Lays so many and fair. + Much I marvel to hear + What the charge he will bring + 'Gainst our tragedy king; + Yea for himself do I fear. + + EUR. Wonderful lays! O yes, you'll see directly. I'll cut down all his + metrical strains to one. + + DIO. And I, I'll take some pebbles, and keep count. + + (<i>A slight pause, during which the music of a flute is heard. The music + continues to the end of line 1277 as an accompaniment to the + recitative</i>.) + + EUR. Lord of Phthia, Achilles, <i>why hearing the voice of the + hero-dividing. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue</i>? We, + by the lake who <i>abide, are adoring our ancestor Hermes. Hah! smiting! + approachest thou not to the rescue?</i> + + DIO. O Aeschylus, twice art thou smitten! + + EUR. Hearken to me, great king; yea, hearken <i>Atreides, thou noblest of + all the Achaeans. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue</i>? + + DIO. Thrice, Aeschylus, thrice art thou smitten! + + EUR. Hush! the bee-wardens are here: they <i>will quickly the Temple of + Artemis open. Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?</i> I will + expound (for <i>I know it</i>) <i>the omen the chieftains encountered. Hah! + smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue?</i> + + DIO. O Zeus and King, the terrible lot of smitings! I'll to the bath: + I'm very sure my kidneys Are quite inflamed and swoln with all these + smitings. + + EUR. Wait till you've heard another batch of lays Culled from his + lyre-accompanied melodies. + + DIO. Go on then, go: but no more smitings, please. + + EUR. How the twin-throned powers of <i>Achaea, the lords of the mighty + Hellenes</i>. + O phlattothrattophlattothrat! + Sendeth <i>the Sphinx, the unchancy, the chieftainess blood-hound.</i> + O phlattothrattophlattothrat! + Launcheth fierce with brand <i>and hand the avengers the terrible eagle</i>. + O phlattothrattophlattothrat! + So for the swift-<i>winged hounds of the air he provided a booty.</i> + O phlattothrattophlattothrat! + The throng down-bearing on Aias. + O phlattothrattophlattothrat! + + DIO. Whence comes that phlattothrat? From Marathon, or + Where picked you up these cable-twister's strains? + + AESCH. From noblest source for noblest ends I brought them, + Unwilling in the Muses' holy field + The self-same flowers as Phrynichus to cull. + But <i>he</i> from all things rotten draws his lays, + From Carian flutings, catches of Meletus, + Dance-music, dirges. You shall hear directly. + Bring me the lyre. Yet wherefore need a lyre + For songs like these? Where's she that bangs and jangles + Her castanets? Euripides's Muse, + Present yourself: fit goddess for fit verse. + + DIO. The Muse herself can't be a wanton? No! + + AESCH. Halcyons, who by the ever-rippling + Waves of the sea are babbling, + Dewing your plumes with the drops that fall + From wings in the salt spray dabbling. + + Spiders, ever with twir-r-r-r-r-rling fingers + Weaving the warp and the woof, + Little, brittle, network, fretwork, + Under the coigns of the roof. + + The minstrel shuttle's care. + + Where in the front of the dark-prowed ships + Yarely the flute-loving dolphin skips. + + Races here and oracles there. + And the joy of the young vines smiling, + + And the tendril of grapes, care-beguiling. + + O embrace me, my child, O embrace me. + (<i>To Dio</i>.) You see this foot? + + DIO. I do. + + AESCH. And this? + + DIO. And that one too. + + AESCH. (<i>To Eur</i>.) You, such stuff who compile, + Dare my songs to upbraid; + You, whose songs in the style + Of Gyrene's embraces are made. + So much for them: but still I'd like to show + The way in which your monodies are framed. + O darkly-light mysterious Night, + What may this Vision mean, + Sent from the world unseen + With baleful omens rife; + A thing of lifeless life, + A child of sable night, + A ghastly curdling sight, + In black funereal veils, + With murder, murder in its eyes, + And great enormous nails? + + Light ye the lanterns, my maidens, and dipping your jugs in the stream, + Draw me the dew of the water, and heat it to boiling and steam, + So will I wash me away the ill effects of my dream. + + "God of the sea! + My dream's come true. + Ho, lodgers, ho, + This portent view. + Glyce has vanished, carrying off my cock, + My cock that crew! + O Mania, help! O reads of the rock + Pursue! pursue! + For I poor girl, was working within, + Holding my distaff heavy and full, + Twir-r-r-r-r-rling my hand as the threads I spin, + Weaving an excellent bobbin of wool: + Thinking 'To-morrow I'll go to the fair, + In the dusk of the morn, and be selling it there.' + But he to the blue upflew, upflew, + On the lightliest tips of his wings outspread; + To me he bequeathed but woe, but woe, + And tears, sad tears, from my eyes o'erflow, + Which I, the bereaved, must shed, must shed. + O children of Ida, sons of Crete, + Grasping your bows to the rescue come; + Twinkle about on your restless feet, + Stand in a circle around her home. + O Artemis, thou maid divine, + Dictynna, huntress, fair to see, + O bring that keen-nosed pack of thine, + And hunt through all the house with me. + O Hecate, with flameful brands, + O Zeus's daughter, arm thine hands, + Those swiftliest hands, both right and left; + Thy rays on Glyce's cottage throw + That I serenely there may go + And search by moonlight for the theft." + + DIO. Enough of both your odes. + + AESCH. Enough for me. Now would I bring the fellow to the scales. That, + that alone, shall test our poetry now, And prove whose words are + weightiest, his or mine. + + DIO. Then both come hither, since I needs must weigh + The art poetic like a pound of cheese. + + CHOR. + + O the labour these wits go through! + O the wild, extravagant, new, + Wonderful things they are going to do! + Who but they would ever have thought of it? + Why, if a man had happened to meet me + Out in the street, and intelligence brought of it, + I should have thought he was trying to cheat me; + Thought that his story was false and deceiving. + That were a tale I could never believe in. + + DIO. Each of you stand beside his scale. + + AESCH. and EUR. We're here. + + DIO. And grasp it firmly whilst ye speak your lines, + And don't let go until I cry "Cuckoo." + + AESCH. EUR. Ready! + + DIO. Now speak your lines into the scale. + + EUR. <i>O that the Argo had not winged her way</i>— + AESCH. <i>River Spercheius, cattle-grazing haunts</i>— + + DIO. <i>Cuckoo! let go. O look, by far the lowest</i> + His scale sinks down. + + EUR. Why, how came that about? + + DIO. He threw a river in, like some wool-seller + Wetting his wool, to make it weight the more. + But <i>you</i> threw in a light and winged word. + + EUR. Come, let him match another verse with mine. + + DIO. Each to his scale. + + AESCH. EUR. We're ready. + + DIO. Speak your lines. + + EUR. <i>Persuasion's only shrine is eloquent speech.</i> + + AESCH. <i>Death loves not gifts, alone amongst the gods</i> + + DIO. Let go, let go. Down goes his scale again. He threw in Death, the + heaviest ill of all. + + EUR. And I Persuasion, the most lovely word. + + DIO. A vain and empty sound, devoid of sense. + Think of some heavier-weighted line of yours, + To drag your scale down: something strong and big. + + EUR. Where have I got one? Where? Let's see. + + DIO. I'll tell you. <i>"Achilles threw two singles and a four</i>." + Come, speak your lines: this is your last set-to. + + EUR. <i>In his right hand he grasped an iron-clamped mace</i>. + + AESCH. <i>Chariot on chariot, corpse on corpse was hurled</i>. + + DIO. There now! again he has done you. + + EUR. Done me? How? + + DIO. He threw two chariots and two corpses in; + Five-score Egyptians could not lift that weight. + + AESCH. No more of "line for line"; let him—himself, + His children, wife, Cephisophon—get in, + With all his books collected in his arms, + Two lines of mine shall overweigh the lot. + + DIO. Both are my friends; I can't decide between them: + I don't desire to be at odds with either: + One is so clever, one delights me so. + + PLUTO. Then you'll effect nothing for which you came? + + DIO. And how, if I decide? + + PLUTO. Then take the winner; + So will your journey not be made in vain. + + DIO. Heaven bless your Highness! Listen, I came down + After a poet. + + EUR. To what end? + + DIO. That so The city, saved, may keep her choral games. + Now then, whichever of you two shall best + Advise the city, <i>he</i> shall come with me. + And first of Alcibiades, let each + Say what he thinks; the city travails sore. + + EUR. What does she think herself about him? + + DIO. What? She loves, and hates, and longs to have him back. + But give me <i>your</i> advice about the man. + + EUR. I loathe a townsman who is slow to aid, + And swift to hurt, his town: who ways and means + Finds for himself, but finds not for the state. + + DIO. Poseidon, but that's smart! (<i>To Aesch</i>.) And what say <i>you?</i> + + AESCH. 'Twere best to rear no lion in the state: + But having reared, 'tis best to humour him. + + DIO. By Zeus the Saviour, still I can't decide. + One is so clever, and so clear the other. + But once again. Let each in turn declare + What plan of safety for the state ye've got. + + EUR. [First with Cinesias wing Cleocritus, + Then zephyrs waft them o'er the watery plain. + + DIO. A funny sight, I own: but where's the sense? + + EUR. If, when the fleets engage, they holding cruets + Should rain down vinegar in the foemen's eyes,] + I know, and I can tell you. + + DIO. Tell away. + + EUR. When things, mistrusted now, shall trusted be, + And trusted things, mistrusted. + + DIO. How! I don't quite comprehend. + Be clear, and not so clever. + + EUR. If we mistrust those citizens of ours + Whom now we trust, and those employ whom now + We don't employ, the city will be saved. + If on our present tack we fail, we surely + Shall find salvation in the opposite course. + + DIO. Good, O Palamedes! Good, you genius you. [Is this <i>your</i> + cleverness or Cephisophon's? + + EUR. This is my own: the cruet-plan was his.] + + DIO. (<i>To Aesch.</i>) Now, you. + + AESCH. But tell me whom the city uses. The good and useful? + + DIO. What are you dreaming of? She hates and loathes them. + + AESCH. Does she love the bad? + + DIO. Not love them, no: she uses them perforce. + + AESCH. How can one save a city such as this, + Whom neither frieze nor woollen tunic suits? + + DIO. O, if to earth you rise, find out some way. + + AESCH. There will I speak: I cannot answer here. + + DIO. Nay, nay; send up your guerdon from below. + + AESCH. When they shall count the enemy's soil their own, + And theirs the enemy's: when they know that ships + Are their true wealth, their so-called wealth delusion. + + DIO. Aye, but the justices suck that down, you know. + + PLUTO. Now then, decide. + + DIO. I will; and thus I'll do it. I'll choose the man in whom my soul + delights. + + EUR. O, recollect the gods by whom you swore + You'd take me home again; and choose your friends. + + DIO. 'Twas my tongue swore; my choice is—Aeschylus. + + EUR. Hah! what have you done? + + DIO. Done? Given the victor's prize + To Aeschylus; why not? + + EUR. And do you dare look in my face, after that shameful deed? + + DIO. What's shameful, if the audience think not so? + + EUR. Have you no heart? Wretch; would you leave me dead? + + DIO. Who knows if death be life, and life be death, And breath be + mutton broth, and sleep a sheepskin? + + PLUTO. Now, Dionysus, come ye in. + + DIO. What for? + + PLUTO. And sup before ye go. + + DIO. A bright idea. I' faith, I'm nowise indisposed for that. + + CHOR. Blest the man who possesses a + Keen intelligent mind. + This full often we find. + He, the bard of renown, + Now to earth reascends, + Goes, a joy to his town, + Goes, a joy to his friends, + Just because he possesses a + Keen intelligent mind. + RIGHT it is and befitting, + Not by Socrates sitting, + Idle talk to pursue, + Stripping tragedy-art of + All things noble and true, + Surely the mind to school + Fine-drawn quibbles to seek, + Fine-set phrases to speak, + Is but the part of a fool! + + PLUTO. Farewell then, Aeschylus, great and wise, + Go, save our state by the maxims rare + Of thy noble thought; and the fools chastise, + + For many a fool dwells there. + And <i>this</i> to Cleophon give, my friend, + And <i>this</i> to the revenue-raising crew, + Nicomachus, Myrmex, next I send, + And <i>this</i> to Archenomus too. + And bid them all that without delay, + To my realm of the dead they hasten away. + For if they loiter above, I swear + I'll come myself and arrest them there. + And branded and fettered the slaves shall go + With the vilest rascal in all the town, + Adeimantus, son of Leucolophus, down, + Down, down to the darkness below. + + AESCH. I take the mission. This chair of mine + Meanwhile to Sophocles here commit, + (For I count him next in our craft divine,) + Till I come once more by thy side to sit. + But as for that rascally scoundrel there, + That low buffoon, that worker of ill, + O let him not sit in my vacant chair, + Not even against his will. + + PLUTO. (To the Chorus.) Escort him up with your mystic throngs, + While the holy torches quiver and blaze. + Escort him up with his own sweet songs and his noble festival lays. + + CHOR. First, as the poet triumphant is passing away to the light, + Grant him success on his journey, ye powers that are ruling below. + Grant that he find for the city good counsels to guide her aright; + So we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe, + Freed from the onsets of war. Let Cleophon now and his band + Battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland. +</pre> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frogs, by Aristophanes + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROGS *** + +***** This file should be named 7998-h.htm or 7998-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/9/7998/ + + +Text file produced by Ted Garvin, Marvin A. 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